Entirely Devoted
by Edmond O'Donald
Summary: This is a story about Harry and Hermione and what happens after Harry is rescued and brought to Grimmauld Place in the summer after his 5th year. It is unabashedly HHr - though there will be a second wife and a mistress for two houses. They will be minor characters. IT IS NOT CANON COMPLIANT. THE JKR TIMELINE IS TRASHED AND MEANINGLESS IN THIS STORY.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: The material in this first section, marked by bold text, is quoted verbatim from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, by J.K. Rowling, published by Bloomsbury Publishing, Plc., Soho Square, London, UK, © 2003; and is taken from pps. 60 – 66.

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**Late evening, Thursday, July 25, 1996 – No. 12, Grimmauld Place – North London, UK**

Whisked away to the supposed 'safety' of No. 12, Grimmauld Place ("Grim, old place", Sirius had said), by the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter was building up to a towering rage. It wasn't _just_ that he had been attacked in Little Winging by two rogue Dementors – it was that he had been incommunicado with the two people he had called his dearest friends from the moment he had arrived at No. 4 Privet Drive until his 'liberation' earlier in the evening. It wasn't _just _that none of the adults in his life seemed to care a fig about how he was feeling. It was those things to be sure, of course – but it was also the fact that he had, very recently, been the first-hand witness to the murder of a young man whom Harry had called school-mate and friend and had no tools, emotional or otherwise, to deal with what he had seen and experienced.

By the time that they reached Sirius' parent's house (the Black Family's 'town house' for use when the head of the family was in town to participate in Wizengamot meetings), there was a _very_ black cloud hanging over Harry's head – and it was visible to anyone who cared to look.

**Harry walked up the warn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.**

**Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open. **

"**Get in quick, Harry", Lupin whispered, "but don't go far inside and don't touch anything."**

**Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He cold smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him; Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step, releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps. They flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with Orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.**

"**Here –"**

**He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.**

Harry didn't have time to consider why there were hushed voices coming from down one of the hallways that lead from the main foyer, nor did he have the patience to stop and consider the expressions on the faces around him. He was too angry. Way too angry, really. Before any of them could react, Harry had pushed Remus Lupin aside, pulled his wand, and jabbed the tip of it deep into Moody's throat. "Now" he snarled, "You want to tell me _exactly_ why the _fuck _I was imprisoned for the last forty days?"

Moody was old enough that he knew he wasn't going to be able to fight the boy off physically – not when Harry was so strong and fit from playing Quidditch and from the outside work that he had been forced to do by his 'relatives' – a term that Moody used (mentally) very, _very_ loosely. He also knew that he'd not be able to get to his wand fast enough to keep Harry from cursing him if he felt so inclined… and judging by the tone of his voice, he did.

"Dumbledore's orders" the man croaked.

"Fuck him. And fuck you too for having gone along with it" Harry said, as he brought his knee up as hard as he could – putting every bit of his pent-up anger and frustration into it and sent the man to the floor, clutching his bits and groaning in blinding, mind-numbing, _Cruciatus_-level pain.

"HARRY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Lupin screamed as he grabbed Harry and spun him away, one-handed, from where the fallen retired Auror lay.

_BAM!_ Harry's punch came out of nowhere that Remus Lupin could see. It was packed with anger and raw, magically-enhanced power and sent the older man to the floor, instantly unconscious, with a jaw broken in multiple places. Nymphadora Tonks, who had recently been graduated from the Auror academy stood, shaken by what she had just witnessed and didn't move fast enough to avoid Harry's full-speed, back-handed slap that lifted her off her feet and sent her crashing to the floor. Momentarily stunned by the hard impact with the wooden floor, she didn't see the kick to the head that sent her into unconsciousness.

The three adults didn't hear the snapping of their wands or the snarl that came from Harry's throat as he tore suspiciously familiar-looking letters out of Tonk's unresisting possession.

Leaving behind his trunk as well as Hedwig, Harry ran up the stairs, glancing down at the letters as he took them two at a time. There were more than twenty of them and every single one of them bore Hermione's familiar, feminine, personal calligraphy. It was the style of writing that she had always reserved for her private notes to him (and no one else that he knew of).

It wasn't until he reached the second landing that he stopped and collected himself for a moment. There was going to be hell to pay for what he had just done – and not just from the Order, but from Dumbledore. While Harry fancied himself a pretty good survivor, with occasional bouts of either unbelievable luck or skill (and he thought the former rather than the latter), he wasn't anywhere near ready to take on Dumbledore – the most powerful wizard, perhaps, since Merlin himself…. at least not magically. He wondered if there might be Muggle ways of dealing with the meddlesome, dictatorial old man and for a moment his mind wandered off in that direction. It was brought back to the present, forcefully, when there rose from the hall one floor down a very great deal of shouting and commotion.

Running down the hall to where he saw a bedroom light, he swung the door open and saw – but only for a moment – the unmistakable and beautiful form of his very best (and perhaps only) friend in the world. The reason that he saw her but for a moment only was that she had, quite suddenly, thrown herself at him and enveloped him in a massive, full-body hug.

His anger, at least towards her, had completely dissipated. That had happened the moment that he had torn the letters from Tonk's supine, unconscious form and realized that Hermione _had_ been trying to get in touch with him for all of the time that he had been 'sequestered' on Privet Drive and that _she_ had paid no attention whatsoever to Dumbledore's commands. She was still the best and greatest thing in his life.

The voices below were getting closer and he could hear the thunder of feet coming up the stairs. "DOBBY!"

_POP! _

"_Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir?"_

"Hermione! Do you trust me?" he breathed into her ear.

"Yes! But why?"

"Just trust me now! Dobby! Get us out of here. Gringotts!"

With that, the little elf grabbed them both and suddenly they were gone.

The air had not yet folded itself back into the space they had just occupied when the door burst open and Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Sirius Black, and Severus Snape crashed inwards.

Of the four, only Severus Snape's wand was in evidence – but it was clear enough, by the look on her face, that Molly Weasley was mad enough to want to use one as well. "Where's Potter" he snarled, before he realized that Ron Weasley – the room's sole occupant – was sound asleep on the bed and, given the sprawl of his body and the strength of his snoring, probably hadn't seen anything at all. Disgusted, he waved his wand about, muttered several barely recognizable spells, and then shoved it back into the invisible inner pocket of his robes.

Of the four, only Sirius Black seemed to be finding any humor in the situation. "It's not funny, Sirius!" Molly snarled angrily as she took in his expression.

"Oh yes it is, Molly. It's actually quite funny. Harry's bested three Aurors, grabbed his best friend in the whole world, and disappeared to parts unknown. Clearly he either has powers we've not yet discovered or he's got some outside help of which we've been unaware. If it's the former, then he's a leg up on the old man and has been successfully hiding things for quite some time. If it's the latter, then he's decided that not everyone here is his friend and is acting on that belief. While the latter prospect worries me for Harry's sake, the former doesn't for a single moment. If it's a combination of the two, then he's beginning to gain some wisdom and I consider that a good thing."

Arthur wasn't nearly as sanguine about Harry's attack on the Order's three strongest members. It worried him that Harry could be as brutal – and as thorough – as he had been. It didn't occur to him to consider that Harry hadn't used magic to attack any of the three, nor had he left them injured in a way that couldn't be, at least for the most part, repaired. All he saw, with his untrained eyes, were three Order-members in extreme pain.

What Arthur missed, Severus Snape had not. The boy had been brutal, yes, but he had also been incredibly effective. He had struck without warning and had left in his victims no ability to fight back. It was a trait that he seemed – at least in this instance – to share with the dark lord. The difference between the two, of course, was that the dark lord would have left corpses, where Harry had left crying, bleeding but live victims. It bugged him to have to admire anything that Potter did, but he was as honest with himself as he was dishonest with the rest of the world and a clear, honest assessment of the boy's actions warranted such a conclusion.

Molly was beside herself. She couldn't imagine that Harry Potter could do such a thing to those who had been sent to protect him and 'rescue' him. She didn't believe the descriptions of the conditions in which Harry had been kept – which really mean that she didn't have necessary internal fortitude to credit what she had been told of Harry's 'relatives' by her own twin boys, Fred and George. All she saw was three Order-members lying on the ground. One in extreme pain; still screaming and clutching his dangly-bits, and the other two unconscious and bleeding from places about the head and face.

Only Sirius Black really 'got it'. Harry had been taken out of one prison – a condition Sirius knew all too well – and brought to another prison. That he had been given no explanation or emotional care / counseling was just another reason for Harry to have lashed out in _exactly_ the way he had. Compounding the situation were the multiple, manipulative acts of the lord-high meddler himself, Albus Dumbledore. Imprisonment of the innocent without parole was just of the man's many crimes. Failure to care about his projects, coupled with an general inattentiveness brought on by advanced age – a gentle way of describing creeping senility, made Dumbledore the least competent person to oversee Harry's safety and wellbeing… but he insisted on casting himself in that role anyway and would brook no interference with his judgments in the matter. That Harry had brutalized Remus bothered him - if only because whatever friendship might have existed between the two was likely damaged by what Harry had done and might not be recoverable without effort and a sense of contrition on Harry's part. Physically, Sirius knew that Remus had amazing recuperative powers as a Werewolf and would be completely healed within a day's time.

That Harry had savaged both Moody and Tonks didn't bother Sirius in the least. Tonks was a big girl - and a Metamorph - and was quite capable, thank you very much, of taking care of herself. Being beaten like a rag-doll by a fifteen-year old was a good and humbling experience and it meant that she had an opportunity to once again lean the lesson that you should never, _ever_ let down your guard, no matter where you are or how safe you think you are.

As for Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody? Well, Sirius held out exactly _zero_ love for the ex-Auror because of his failure to lift so much as a finger in his defense when he was first sent to Azkaban. Sirius also knew that Harry could sell that memory to many a Death-eater for good money, as they'd buy it again and again for the satisfaction of seeing one of the greatest dark-wizard catchers of all time get his comeuppance by a 15 yr. old. It was _still_ a challenge, from time to time, to resist the urge to push Moody and his peg-leg down at least one flight of stairs – preferably the stairs at Hogwarts.

By the time that the group had made its way back down the narrow, darkened staircase and back to the kitchen, Albus Dumbledore had arrived and the news of Harry's three victims had taken a decidedly bad turn. Sirius noted that the look on the old man's face betrayed much more than it concealed. He was angry and worried.

"What happened, Molly, Sirius? Poppy sent me a Patronus telling me that I was needed here at haste."

"It's the brat, Potter, Headmaster. It appears he was _displeased_ with the way he had been treated while at his relatives and he took his childish anger out on Alastor, Tonks, and Lupin."

A dark cloud passed over the Headmaster's face, before he schooled his features and raised an eyebrow of concern towards the former Death Eater. "What do you mean, Severus? Surely a fifteen year-old boy could not have overcome all three?"

Sirius took a step forward and addressed the Headmaster. "Albus, Harry was angry. Very angry… and he most certainly did beat all three of them. Alastor is likely to be permanently incontinent because of Harry's attack; Nymphadora is still unconscious and will be until Poppy can fix her head-wound, and Remus will be fine in the morning, after Poppy administers the Skele-grow. He was knocked unconscious, but otherwise had no lasting damage. The main thing that they have to be concerned about is the fact that Harry destroyed their wands."

That disclosure shocked the old man and his face showed it. Snapping a wizard or witch's wand was an act of hatred and malice that had very few equals. It made Harry's disappearance that much more worrisome. "No idea where he's gone?"

"No, Headmaster, but you should know that he's taken Granger with him. Whether she went of her own accord or he forced her, she's not here and both his trunk and hers are gone, as are their familiars."

Albus Dumbledore knew that Harry and Hermione teaming up was a dangerous, highly complicating development. Hermione Granger was an incredibly smart, persistent, loyal, and beautiful girl who was going to be a powerhouse – both magically and in terms of personality – when she came into her majority. Everyone knew it. Most particularly, the pure-blood faction, both inside Hogwarts and without, knew it and they resented her for it. Her grades had been compared with Albus' when he was a young man and in some ways, she had already surpassed him. Certainly, her breadth of knowledge was greater than his, even if she had a long ways to go yet in terms of her magical learning and the way she _applied_ what she knew.

Harry, on the other hand, was the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself. That fact, and not the existence of Tom's Horcrēs (pl. 'Horcrux'), was his most closely-guarded secret. Harry, if he applied himself and grew beyond his preconceived personal limitations, would grow to do things that would become the stuff of legend. And therein lay the very problem. Harry's scar – the scar that hard marked him since he was 18 months old - was not some ordinary scar. Rather, it was the tell-tale of a small, parasitic fragment of Tom Riddle's soul – which had been shorn off his already incomplete soul during an act of attempted murder gone very badly awry. Of that one terrible fact, Albus Dumbledore was certain and in order for it to be destroyed… Harry had to die. Whether that was in a confrontation with Tom or accidentally, Harry's soul had to be given a chance to pass over to the next life. With it would the fragment, he hoped, and _that_ would fatally loosen Tom's already tenuous grip on life.

Everything that had happened to Harry in his four years at Hogwarts had been, in one way or another, failed attempts to force a confrontation between Harry and Tom Riddle. Sometimes the confrontation had been of his own making and sometimes not. So far, he was naught for two in his deliberate attempts to push the two together. Unfortunately, Tom wasn't any luckier. As a result, Harry was alive and, if his minions' reports were correct, mad as a wet hornet.

Albus steepled his fingers and thought as he looked around the poorly-lit room. As a collection of witches and wizards who were supposed to be some of the best that their age-cohorts had to offer, it wasn't exactly awe-inspiring: One embittered, angry, lonely, self-serving potions-master; a couple of over-indulgent gone-to-seed parents; and an escaped prisoner whose looks, dentistry, complexion, and wardrobe had seen better days. Not present were his Auror-spy Nymphadora Tonks – a woman of dubious sexual morals and questionable self-identity; his (retired) enforcer/hit-man Alastor Moody, and an unemployed Werewolf. Beyond that, he had a Bantu Auror (Kingsley Shacklebolt) and a couple of others – not one of whom was a combat veteran.

Arrayed them was an angry, incredibly powerful wizard and the brilliant, powerful witch who would literally walk into Hell to protect him and the vast fortune that Albus was sure had been left to him (Harry) by his parents, James and Lily. He had no idea that Sirius Black had successfully conspired with the Goblins to leave _his_ entire fortune to Harry as well – and would have been horrified to learn that the one reliable source of funding for the Order was about to go into the hands of the very boy whom they now planned to try to retrieve against his will.

Albus knew, based on his more than 160 years of experience, that nothing was more dangerous than the focused efforts of brains + magic + money if it got up a head of steam – and Harry was too opportunistic and too lucky to be taken as anything less than a grade-A threat.

"How soon before the others are recovered enough to join us?" The question was directed at Arthur, but it was a question asked in a neutral tone, so Sirius answered it.

"By tomorrow we should have Remus with us again and I suspect that by tomorrow evening, my cousin will be ready as well. I can't vouch for Alastor. I saw what Harry did and I can honestly say that I've never seen anything like it before. He must have channeled his entire magical core into the attack. If it had been anyone else…. well, I'm certain we'd be attending a funeral shortly. I'm thinking Alastor will be lucky to walk again – so I wouldn't count on him anytime soon."

Shaking his head, Albus thought about what Sirius had said. It was hard to comprehend that a boy who had been so gentle, kind… sweet even… could be moved to doing something as violent as attacking three of the people who had brought him from his relative's home and back into the magical world. Albus had long since put away feelings of anger and it was hard now to reconnect with those emotions. They tended to make people do very, very rash things. _His_ rashness had led to the death of his beloved sister, Arianna, many years before…and so he had put aside those kinds of powerful emotions, for fear that he might again do something terrible.

Hanging his head, he made dismissive waves of his hands. "Go… all of you. Try to find him. Use whatever resources that you have. If you need funds, I will provide them. We must find Harry and Hermione and set this right. I fear for us all if Harry decides that _we're_ the enemy. Tom would benefit greatly if we became so divided."

Molly looked at the old man. "What about Ron? And Ginny? And my twins? They're all here and someone needs to look after them."

"You worry too much, Molly. I will see to it that they know what the limitations are while they are staying here. I don't believe for an instant that they are now, or will be, in any danger."

Molly seemed unconvinced, but Arthur put a strong hand on her shoulder, which silenced her, and guided her out of the room and towards the large floo in the foyer. They weren't going to get any sleep until Harry was found, so each knew that it was time to go and get at it.

**Ten miles** from No. 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry and Hermione were having (relatively speaking) much better luck dealing with the circumstances in which they found themselves.

The Goblins, as a rule, didn't abide by any notion of 'closed' or 'open' when it came to running the bank's business… at least when it came to dealing with the bank's _highest_ net-worth clients, so Harry and Hermione's arrival in the grand foyer of Gringotts-London in the very late evening was not particularly problematic. If, however, they had been Weasleys….well, the welcome would have been a very different and far less pleasant. Being poor, according to the Goblins, was a socially stigmatizing condition very closely akin to being known among Muggles as a pedophile.

Once Harry had identified himself and Hermione, mentioned his willingness to make _fair payment for services_, and then produced his vault key, things began to happen for him that had never happened before. The first thing was that human attendants were summoned by their Goblin employers for the specific purpose of seeing to Harry and Hermione's immediate physical needs – which included food, a secure place in which to shower/shave/etc., a warm bed, and a new, complete wardrobe for each of them. The second thing that happened was the appearance, early the next morning, of a small army of lawyers and medical personnel. Neither Harry nor Hermione had any time to consider how or why the Goblins might have known how valuable those services would be to the two teenagers, but as soon as Harry and Hermione were awake, each was whisked into the care of two doctors and many attending nurses, etc.

By the time that they had been poked, prodded, examined, and then cured of the things that were plaguing each of them – in Hermione's case, persistent and painful magical Endometriosis that the doctors examining her thought was tied to her body's need (very soon) to undergo magical maturity. A result, Hermione mused, when told of it, that was probably directly tied to her nearly year-long use of a time-turner. There was also the 'minor' dental issue (two front teeth that were just slightly larger than they needed to be) and a persistent case of frizzy hair. While the first two issues – the periods and the teeth were immediately solved by potions and some complex healing spells, Hermione was told in grave but empathizing tones that only God himself could heal her frizzy hair.

Harry's issues were, of course, a great deal more complex (as well as legendary by those who knew him). Aside from the scars that seemed to crisscross his body, he also had bones, broken by his uncle and cousin, that had never healed properly and a body left much too small by malnutrition, as well as eyesight that was considered nothing short of ghastly for someone his age – especially when compared to the medical records which Gringotts had on file for James Potter from time when he was a young man of similar age.

What disconcerted Harry most during the entire process was the way that the two doctors kept re-examining the scar on his forehead before returning to checking out the rest of him. Eventually Harry realized that the examining table upon which he lay was not the standard, antiseptic hospital-white, but rather a non-descript grey that was offset by thousands of small runes that pulsed and then ebbed in no predictable pattern.

It also bothered him that Hermione wasn't nearby – preferably within arms' length. He wasn't used to that. They always did things together! To do things without her was _unnatural_._ Not the way things were supposed to be. Scary._

Harry wasn't alone in feeling that way. That unease; the sense of _unnaturalness_ was the same thing Hermione felt as she lay, twitching, from the medicine was traversing her system in search of things to heal.

It took most all of the morning and a good bit of the afternoon for the doctors/medi-wizards who were attending them to declare them fit to be released. By then the small team of lawyers seemed to have created a veritable mountain of paperwork. It was disconcerting that they were looking so pleased with themselves as Harry and Hermione entered the executive conference room, but they were and it made him nervous.

A tall, handsome man with an engaging smile stepped forward and looked at the pair of them. "Good afternoon, Lord Potter. My name is Henry Steele and I represent the firm of Lye, Cheetham, and Steele."

Harry looked at them warily; causing Hermione to slide her hand into his, gently, and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Good afternoon, sir. I'm Harry Potter. This is my best friend, Hermione Granger."

"How do you do, miss?" His entire face broke into a fatherly smile when he saw that the two were holding hands. It was immediately obvious to him that theirs was a serious relationship. "I can see that Lord Potter has chosen well."

Hermione looked at the solicitor quizzically and then looked at Harry. Her eyes met his and he could see the question the question plainly written on her face. Her whole countenance was transformed when he smiled shyly and then nodded; blushing the whole time. She felt him squeeze her hand and pull her closer. The kiss, when it came, was soft and loving. Neither of them even heard the loud applause that erupted all around the room.

"So, you're telling me that by signing this… _I'm getting all that?_" Harry pointed at the two lists that had been laid on the table in front of him. They were very long lists. He was past the shock already of being called 'lord', though it still hadn't sunk in that he was something like royalty in magical Britain.

"Yes, Lord Potter"

"_For the fourth time, my name is Harry"_ Harry snarled at the man who was trying, so painstakingly, to explain the ramifications of the documents that he had Harry sign for the better part of an hour. In contrast to Henry Steele, Roger Cheetham was a short, balding, slump-shouldered fifty-something lawyer. He was also somewhat obsequious and couldn't seem to wrap his head around calling Harry by his given name.

The anger in Harry's tone finally connected with something and in an instant, the man broke off and said, "I'm sorry Mr….._Harry._ It's just that we were told to observe all formalities by our hosts here and it is very hard to break protocol. I'm sure you understand."

Harry's carriage softened and some of the tension appeared to go out of him. Turning away from the lawyer, Harry looked across the table to where the bank's senior-most manager / current clan-chief was seated. "Is that true, Lord Ragnok?"

The Goblin Chief nodded his head once. It was a very Goblin motion. It indicated _'acceptance-of-what is'_ and it was a formal gesture made during what could be tense business negotiations. Remember what little he had learned in History of Magic, Harry made a sign with his hands that showed _'appreciation of one's situation'_… and then he bowed, formally, to the Goblin-Chief. "My Lord Ragnok, I am "_H_elem_" [pronounced with an aspirated, guttural '_**H' **_**] **('friend', in the guttural Goblin language). I ask you to know me as 'Harry'.

'_H_elem_' was a tricky word in the Goblin language and Harry knew it. It did, indeed, mean 'friend'. It also meant 'shield'… but could also be translated to mean '_your shield'_ and in that double-meaning lay the implication that Harry was offering to the Clan-Chief of Gringotts-London something more than a standard Banker-Client relationship. There were several possible responses to what Harry said and not all of them would be good (for Harry and Hermione at least), but Harry had his fingers crossed.

Finally Ragnok spoke; his voice low and guttural. "You honor me, _human. _Do you truly offer me '_H_elem'?"_

Harry looked at him, but didn't smile. Showing one's teeth to a Goblin was a _baaaaaaaaaad_ thing to do. Instead, Harry carefully drew his small pocket-knife and made a small, careful, star-shaped cut into his palm, before holding it out, palm-upwards and showing it to the Clan-Chief. It was the ritualistic way of offering his blood to the Clan-Chief, to signify that his offer was genuine. The lawyers in the room watched, both in horror and in fascination. None of them had ever seen the kind of interaction that they were presently witnessing before and most all of them figured that they might never see it again.

Harry looked across the table at the Clan-Chief and said, _Hai! Che ta helem!__,' , which came out sounding like 'Hai! Ta che h_elem!' – which, loosely translated meant, 'yes! Your shield!'_

Ragnok's mouth split open in what had to be, Harry figured, a smile. Then he said two words: 'H_elem, Harry'.

From the moment that the Clan-Chief uttered the two words, the room took on a very different feel. The first noticeable thing that changed was the sudden absence of Goblin guards. After that, there was a definite uptick to the pace (as well as ease) of the things that happened to both Harry and Hermione. The slow, laborious pace at which Gringotts documents had been produced all morning suddenly became a virtual torrent of information. Harry was astounded at the sheer volume of information that the Goblins seemed to keep. Records were cross-indexed in two and sometimes three places and were done in meticulous English. Every single one of Harry's properties suddenly had not just clear title of ownership attached to it, but up-to-the-minute valuations attached. Harry and Hermione literally knew what Harry was worth moment to moment and down to the very last Knut and Shilling (Pence) and they goggled at the figure. It was a number larger than the GDP of some small _countries_.

By dinner-time, Harry and Hermione had discovered many, many things about Harry's family; the family's financial legacy, and what problems probably lay ahead for him and for them as a couple. Harry also discovered that Sirius Black had named him sole heir to the _entire_ Black Family fortune and that he planned to leave Harry in charge of the Black Family once Harry attained his magical majority.

The thing that they expected, though dreaded, was just how intense the search had become to find the two of them. Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour both knew where Harry and Hermione were [they had been part of the human help that had been brought in] – but as Gringotts employees they were forbidden to discuss or disclose anything about them. By the time the meetings at Gringotts had adjourned for the day, Order of the Phoenix members could be seen up and down Diagon Alley; desperately trying to find them.

Taking Harry's hand in hers, Hermione Granger giggled. She was no longer a ward of the Ministry (her parents had disowned her; abandoning her to her fate after her third year at Hogwarts and had moved to Australia), but the betrothed of Harry James, the 9th Lord Potter of Godric's Hollow. That meant that she would pick up at least two new titles when they were married (something that, in her mind, was a foregone conclusion after the afternoon's events), for Harry was also the last known descendent of Godric Gryffindor and, to Harry's chagrin, heir to his legacy and the entire contents of the merged Potter-Gryffindor vault at Gringotts.

"Where to, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Don't know, really. I guess we could jump the channel and see what's doing in Paris… or Belgium, or pretty much anywhere else you'd like to visit. It's not like I'm going back to that place again." Harry couldn't even say the address of the house where Sirius was living; such was the nature of the _Fidelius_ over the place.

"Well, it's not like anyone's going to question whether we're of age or not" Hermione said; looking down at the breathtaking emerald and diamond ring on her left hand and then over at the matching one Harry was wearing on his right hand.

_Flashback two hours_

"Alright. I'm done here. I can't take any more. I know you folks mean well, but I can't deal with any longer. I'm sorry."

Harry looked at the small cluster of men and women who were in the room. Each seemed to have a function, though in truth he couldn't really parse out what each did. A glance at Hermione told him that she felt the same way and needed to get out of the room and to somewhere that would be conducive to clearing her head and perhaps even letting her vent a bit. Then he remembered that he had wanted to look at his family vaults. Part of him was just really curious and the other half thought that it was the responsible thing to do – and what his parents would have wanted him to do. Looking at Hermione made that part of him that needed to do the responsible thing just that little bit stronger. "Want to go for a ride, Hermione?" he said with a small smile on his face.

He didn't _really_ have to ask her. Hermione was already far past the point where that was necessary – but she appreciated it anyway. "Yes, please" she said, in a voice that conveyed her relief in having an opportunity to get the hell away from the lawyers, their endless paperwork, and the oppressive tension of being one of the only two teenagers in a room full of people.

Harry held out his hand, which she took gratefully, and he led her out of the room, down a long hall, and towards one of the more senior Goblins that he knew – Griphook. Once there, Harry quickly explained what he wanted to do and asked if Griphook could make it happen. Since Harry was the largest non-corporate depositor with Gringotts _worldwide_, both he and Hermione soon found themselves in a cart and hurtling down into the dark depths of Gringotts' enormous central vault-cavern.

The ride was fast – perhaps faster than any trip he had ever taken; save for those he had done on broomstick. It was even faster than the rides, both of them, which he had taken on Buckbeak – and that, he thought, was saying something. Riding a Hippogriff wasn't like flying any other way. Hippogriffs very much have a mind of their own, so the rider is never really in charge of the flight, unlike being on a broom.

At the bottom of the cavern sat two rows of massive vaults – numbered one through fifty; twenty-five to a side. Each had a door that was nine or ten feet high and maybe, Harry thought, as much as six or seven feet wide. Upon each door was inscribed a colorful coat of arms. Some had mottos etched in gold or onyx while others were done in red. At least two he saw were done in a dark blue. It was in front of one of these, number 7, that they stopped.

Harry looked at the Goblin who had brought them down to this very lowest level, as if to say, _you sure this is right?_

"Go, _H_elem_. If the door accepts you, you will enter. If not, there will be… a cost."

Harry didn't like that one bit and neither did Hermione. She grabbed him and made him look at her. He saw her worry and the love that was in her eyes for him. "It's all right, Hermione. I promise."

He had no idea, really, why he told her that it would be all right. Certainly, if the door _did_ accept him, then it truly would be fine. If not…. well, he had faced the dark lord four or five times already and lived to tell about it, so he rationalized that he had to be doing _something_ right. Of course, like any bit of bravado, it tends to melt away and things become harder the closer one moves to the challenge to be faced. Once Harry was face-to-face (doorknocker?) with the door, he realized that he had no idea what he had to do. However, there seemed to be one worn-away spot on the place on the edge of the coat of arms – which was of three golden Griffins standing side-by-side; each with something clutched in a claw. The first had a sword, the second a book with the word "_justicia"_ on the cover, and the third clutched an olive branch. Harry wondered if the original vault-owner wasn't the inspiration for that rebellious Yank, Thomas Jefferson. Reaching out, Harry put his (relatively) small hand on the worn-away spot and was amazed to feel a pulsing warmth run up his arm and almost immediately coat the entirety of his insides with that same warmth.

"I claim this vault by birthright" Harry said simply, hoping that it was enough.

The groaning, metal-on-stone sound told him that it had been. Slowly, the door swung open; revealing nothing. Knowing that he was safely hidden by the bank's wards, he held up his hand and wished for light. His magic responded and soon the entire vault was revealed. Easily a football pitch in length, it dwarfed any vault that he had ever seen (or heard of) before. Looking over his shoulder towards where Hermione still sat in the cart, he called out, "Hermione! C'mere! You've got to see this"

Hermione Granger was out of the cart in a shot and soon the two were walking, carefully, among the floor-to-ceiling high piles of galleons, rugs, unspeakably precious books and scrolls, jewels, armor, weapons, and armoires. Pausing for a moment, Hermione looked at the young man who had brought her to this place, before she pulled him close.

"Harry?" she said quietly.

"Hermione?" he replied, lifting his hand so that he could cup the back of her head. He said her name as a question, but they both knew what the other was asking. Their eyes met and their lips followed. It was a tender kiss at first– but there was a roaring hunger that both felt. The kisses that Harry had shared with Cho Chang seemed like they had happened in a different lifetime – and they could not compare, either in tenderness or in passion, with the ones that he was now sharing with the girl he loved more than life itself.

For Hermione's part, the kiss was the culmination of everything good and special that had happened between them over the last four years, from the moment when Harry had charged into the girl's bathroom to protect her from the Troll to the treasured but terrifying minute before Harry had passed through the flames to try to protect the Philosopher's stone to the singular moments when she and Harry were standing in the moonlight, holding hands, watching Sirius Black fly away on Buckbeak's back. It had always been clear that Harry was the one for her – even if she hadn't truly recognized it until Henry Steele had complemented Harry on his choice. She knew it now as an indisputable fact in the same way she knew her own name. There would never be another man in her life. That there would be a second wife and a mistress for each house… well, that came with Harry's additional House responsibilities – and she accepted it. Well…. more than simply accepted it, really. Hogwarts boys didn't know it, but every girl in the school, save for a very few, knew that girls made wonderful lovers (three out of every four weeks, of course!), and she most definitely wasn't one of the exceptions to the rule. The Patil twins could attest to that!

That didn't matter in the moment though. Her entire sexuality was wide awake now and Harry's kiss had just freed every repressed sexual thought; every aching need she had ever felt. Grabbing Harry's hands, she moved them down to her arse; making it plain by her movements what she wanted.

Breaking the kiss, Hermione wrapped her arms around him as she ground her sex against his and moaned. _"Oh God….Harry! Ohhhhhhhhhhh…..YES!" _His hands were exploring her just as she wanted and she could feel his excitement, long and impossibly hard, pressing against her hot core.

"_Oh God, Hermione. You don't know how long I've wanted you." _ Harry's voice was raspy and thick with emotion – love, lust, amazement, and fear – all in equal measure. Love for the constant companionship, support, trust, encouragement, and pride that he had always felt both from her and for her; lust for the perfect, hot, nubile, almost 17 yr. old girl who was showing him just how much she desired him; amazement at finding himself in such a situation and at the knowledge that she wanted permanency in it in the very same way that he did; and finally fear… that he would lose her or that he would wake up and that it would all prove to have been a dream.

Hermione gave herself over to every passionate, erotic thought and willingly forgot, for the fleeting private time that they had, that she was a prim-and-proper schoolgirl. What she wanted was to feel his hands on her body, _everywhere_… and she told him so with every movement, every kiss. _"Put your hands in my pants, Harry. Touch me! Please!"_

Not one to deny Hermione anything, he did as bidden. Unbuttoning her pants (which were done up at her left hip, instead of in front), Harry slid his hands down, over her soft, white-cotton-knickers' covered bottom and caressed every bit of her. He let his fingers memorize her incredible, magnificent body and reveled as he discovered each new bit of her. Soon he was caressing her bum with one hand, her sex with the other, and feeling amazed at how damp her knickers had become.

"_Put your fingers inside me, Harry! Do me! Please!"_ Hermione begged him. 

"_We don't have much time, love" _he said, thinking about the Goblin who was outside, waiting patiently in the cart for them.

"_Don't….need….it! Do it! Finger my pussy! Please!"_

Harry had never, ever, _ever_ touched a girl in the way that Hermione was pleading to be touched, and in truth, he had never touched a girl in any amorous way at all until this moment – and he desperately wanted to please her. Watching her face for any sign of disapproval or hesitancy, Harry slowly, but not too slowly, slid his hand down and into his girl's knickers. He really didn't know what to expect and had no idea that it wasn't unusual for a Muggle-born girl to be shaved and have silky-smooth skin all the way down between her legs. However, there wasn't time to comment on his surprise, so he pressed ahead the way he _thought _a true Gryffindor would and let his hand slide down, tenderly, so that he was cupping her hot, wet sex. Slowly and gently, he pushed two fingers up and into her body. Hermione gasped at first and then rolled her hips forward slightly, so that his middle and ring-fingers were even deeper into her pussy. The gusset of her knickers was damp against the back of his hand in place – which gave him a strong jolt of pride that _he_ was the one who had had inspired her to make it so.

Kissing the back of her neck as he pleasured her, Harry marveled at how good she smelled and how receptive she was to his touch. His breath was cool on her skin, but the feelings it stoked in her were delicious.

It was too much for her and soon Harry was rewarded for his efforts, as Hermione spread her legs a bit farther and then cried out as the orgasm he had been stoking within her exploded throughout her body; unhinging her mind. "_Oh yes! Fuck yes! Ohhhhhh_ _GOD!"_

It seemed like a long time before Hermione came back to herself and was able to speak coherently. When she did, though, she threw her arms around him, pressed her face tight to his, and whispered "_Thank you Harry. I love you," _

Withdrawing his hand, reluctantly, from the front of Hermione's knickers, Harry brought it around her back, to once again clutch her bottom and pull her tight against his body. "_I love you too, Hermione. Be mine forever?"_

"_I already am, Harry. No one can ever take me from you"_ she said as they tilted their heads once more and brushed their lips together in a feather-soft kiss.

"_Now it's my turn, Harry" _Hermione said as she gripped his erection through his pants. Before Harry had time to say anything, Hermione dropped to her knees and was freeing his cock from its confinement.

The feel of her silky, feminine hands on the bare, sensitive flesh of his cock lit up his whole body – in the same way that it did to any young man discovering the pleasures of the flesh for the first time. He knew he wasn't going to last long. His body was already a quivering, erotic mess and Hermione's every movement and every touch pushed him that much closer towards rolling over into a vast chasm filled with orgasmic pleasure.

"_Cum for me, Harry. Let it go!" _she whispered, before taking his cock deep into her mouth. Harry couldn't help but comply – all over her tongue and mouth and the feeling nearly took his breath away. He had never, ever imagined that he could feel so good.

When he regained some sense of control, Harry helped Hermione to her feet and once again kissed her passionately. "_Let's find a ring, if there is one, so that everyone will know that you're mine"_ he said.

"_And that you're mine"_ she replied, before pressing her lips against his and silencing him for the next few minutes.

_Flashback ends_

Harry giggled. "Yea, probably no one. But it's nice that we have the right ID's now. Gotta wonder how the Goblins do it sometimes."

Hermione nodded distractedly. She was thinking about all the things that they had seen in the vault and just how much of it Harry had been able to put in the magical chest that he now had in his pocket. She wondered – and she knew it was more than a touch greedy of her - if he had gotten many of the books they had discovered. She was sure he had grabbed a very large volume of galleons and most all of the jewelry, gems, armor, and weapons that he had seen. "So… where to? I was thinking we get to Addlestone and then find the first train to Folkestone."

Nodding, Harry looked at her. He couldn't believe, even after their tryst in the vault, that she was _his_. It seemed so unreal that a girl like Hermione – with her brilliance and beauty – would deign to be with someone like him. However, he wasn't going to stop and have some kind of heart-to-heart in the middle of Gringotts' central lobby. It was neither the time nor the place in which to talk through all of the things that they had experienced in the last twenty-four hours. It was, however, the time to be _doing_.

"It's a good thing I have my cloak then, isn't it?" Harry asked, almost rhetorically.

"Prat."

"But you love me anyway" he rejoined, seeing the look of humor and love on her face.

"You know I do, so let's get on with it. We've got a fair way to go ere we sleep tonight".

"Right" Harry said, throwing the cloak over the two of them, before putting his hand around her waist and pulling her close. Together they walked down the steps, careful to make no noise, and moved past all of the Order members who were patrolling up and down the alley.

Soon they were at the portal which led to the Leaky Cauldron. Once past the magical brick portal, they realized immediately that getting to freedom was going to be much harder than it looked – because the place was packed with patrons and not at all conducive to moving side-by-side to the door which led to Charring Cross Road and the anonymity of Muggle London.

Jabbing Harry in the ribs, Hermione said, "How are we ever going to get out of here?"

Drawing his wand from his back pocket – Harry pointed it at the fireplace and said softly, "Like this". Hermione watched as the almost-invisible spell shot from Harry's wand and hit the fireplace. Almost before she had time to comprehend what was happening, patrons were running for the door to the outside or Apparating away. Then she saw what Harry had done. All over the floor were big, black, biting ants – the kind that she had studied in Herbology as being the worst possible pest to have anywhere near a tree that produced wand-quality wood. The ants were drawn to magic and began biting and chewing anything that had a magical signature.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes…but how do we get past the ants?" Hermione had never heard of anything that would deter them.

"Like this" Harry said, and then pointed his wand at a salt-shaker that was on a nearby table. The salt-shaker rose into the air; the cover popped off, and the salt burst forth in a magical cloud that momentarily filled the room, before settling down on every surface. Hermione watched as every ant that was touched by the salt exploded in a small _!pop!. _

"Now, Hermione. Let's go!" he whispered, before pulling her across the long main room and out, through the door, and into the freedom of Muggle London.

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_**OK – so I wrote this first chapter – if that is what it becomes – because I had a smut-bunny wandering around my head and it needed expression. Now I've written 18 pages and there is certainly more to be written, though I don't know if it will turn into another huge project (like the 4 I already have on the fire) or not. YOUR REACTIONS TO THIS STORY WILL DETERMINE (IN LARGE MEASURE) whether or not it gets continued. SO….. As usual, I would ask you to please leave a review. Reader-reviews are the life-blood of this kind of writing and I need/want them no less than the next person. Plus, it gives me a sense of what's working and what isn't. **_

_Regards,_

the_scribbler


	2. Chapter 2

"**Entirely Devoted**_**"**_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**By 'the_scribbler'**_

_**the_scribbler shadowgard (d*t) com**_

**Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, 17 U.S.C. §§ 512, 120 1–1 205, this work is copyrighted 2012 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. ****No portion may be reproduced in any fashion, or hosted on any website****,**** without the ****express written and notarized permission**** of the author. **

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own rights to**__**any of the Harry Potter characters.**_** All characters are creations of Joanne K Rowling, © 2003, to whom I am deeply indebted. The ****Harry Potter**** series is property of Joanne K. Rowling, and Arthur A. Levine Books, Inc., a division of Scholastic Press, Inc., © 2003. I make no money from any of this.**_** WHATEVER IS LEFT IS MINE.**_

CONTENT Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and as such, it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is mostly coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. These stories are just that, stories, and do not promote or condone the activities described herein

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**From Chapter One:**

"….Drawing his wand from his back pocket – Harry pointed it at the fireplace and said softly, "Like this". Hermione watched as the silent, almost-invisible spell shot from Harry's wand and hit the fireplace. Almost before she had time to comprehend what was happening, patrons were running for the door to the outside or Apparating away. Then she saw what Harry had done. All over the floor were big, black, aggressive, biting ants – the kind that she had studied in Herbology as being the worst possible pest to have anywhere near a tree that produced wand-quality wood. The ants were drawn to magic and began biting and chewing anything that had a magical signature.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes…but how do we get past the ants?" Hermione had never heard of anything that would deter them.

"Like this" Harry said, and then pointed his wand at a salt-shaker that was on a nearby table. The salt-shaker rose into the air; the cover popped off, and the salt burst forth in a magical cloud that momentarily filled the room, before settling down on every surface. Hermione watched as every ant that was touched by the salt exploded with a small _!pop!. _

"Now, Hermione. Let's go!" he whispered, before pulling her across the long main room and out, through the door, and into the freedom of Muggle London.

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**And now….the continuation of "Entirely devoted"**

Muggle London was always busy – just more so now that it was high summer. Tourists were everywhere. Even at eight o'clock in the evening, the streets were still busy. Not too busy, however, for a plethora of proper London cabs. Hailing the first one he could get to, Harry guided Hermione by the elbow towards it. As he did so, he tilted his head in her general direction and said, "Just follow my lead, okay?"

Hermione nodded and did exactly as she was asked. Harry ran to the cab's side, opened the door for her, and she crawled in. Harry then ran around to the other side and crawled in.

"Where to, please?" the cabby called back in what sounded like a Caribbean accent.

"Canterbury Cathedral, please" Harry said quickly.

The driver turned his head in surprise. "That's a fair ways to go, mate. You sure?"

Harry nodded quickly and then reached into a pants-pocket; pulling out a large sheaf of bills. "I've got it right here. Please…. let's go". He didn't want to sound nervous or desperate, but he had a hard time keeping his voice under control. The cabbie looked at him and then shrugged.

"Right then. It's more than an hour to get there, so just sit back and get comfortable."

Only when they were safely out of the city and running south along the M20 did Harry feel comfortable enough to sit back and relax a bit.

Hermione, for her part, did what she could to get Harry to relax. Finally she got him to lie down in the back seat, with his head on her lap. As she began running her fingers through his hair, she whispered to him, "You sure about this?"

He nodded to her and then said as quietly as he could – because he was concerned that their driver might eventually be found by someone in the Order and magically interrogated, "I'll tell you when we get to Canterbury. It's not safe right now."

Hermione was no dummy. She knew instinctively that the Order would be looking for them. Even though Harry hadn't really said anything about why he had asked Dobby to whisk them away from Grimmauld place, she had already surmised that Harry must have had a falling-out with one or more members of the Order – including Dumbledore himself – and that he'd now be on the run from them and concerned about 'operational security' as some of the spy-thrillers she had read had called it.

All of their 'worldly goods' - their trunks, school supplies, clothing, extra books, invisibility cloak, and the entire contents of Harry's school vault – were in Hermione's purse at the moment and would stay there, safe and secure, until they got to wherever they were going. She hoped that they would have access to Gringotts and in fact, she was counting on the fact that they would, as she didn't think they could stay on the run for long without it, even with the small fortune in galleons from Harry.

Eventually Harry's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. So lost in thought was she about the things that were going on that the change caught her off-guard. She smiled down at him. It was an amazing thing to see him peacefully sleeping. The number of times that he had done so in her presence she could count on one hand – and that wasn't nearly enough, in her estimation.

After another twenty-five or so minutes, the driver called back to her. "We're almost at the Cathedral, Miss. Where do you want to be dropped off?"

She thought about it for a moment; trying to recall the time that she had visited the Cathedral on a school trip. It had happened in the fall of 1980 – just after she had turned 11. Hoping she was right, she said "Somewhere on the north side. Not too far from the front, if you can."

"Yes, Miss. I think I know the spot."

Content for the moment, Hermione leaned back. She wanted to give Harry every possible moment of sleep that she could. He was her rock and her mainstay – and would be the one to defend them if it came to that. She prayed that, at least for this night, nothing would happen and that they would have time to talk, plan, and sleep.

Unobtrusively, the black, sleek cab pulled up to the curb in front of the Cathedral. Harry had woken up moments before and was still a bit disoriented – though not disoriented enough not to know exactly where his wand was. Hermione had paid the cabbie generously, though not overly so, and had taken Harry's hand in hers.

Looking about, Harry neither saw nor felt with his magic anyone who he classified as a problem – so he guided Hermione towards the front door. Finding it open, he stepped back and let her enter ahead of him.

Once they were inside, Harry slowly relaxed. It was obvious that he felt safe inside the Church, or at least _safer_ than he had outside. Not letting go of her hand, he walked down the center aisle slowly; taking in the quiet magnificence of the place.

His eyes brightened when he saw movement in one of the alcoves and he steered her towards the person. Hermione wondered what Harry was thinking as he did so, but was willing to trust his instincts, as they had pretty much always proven correct previously – the bit about following his other self into Hagrid's hut the night they had jointly used the time-turner to save Sirius notwithstanding.

After about thirty seconds, the two were inside the alcove and Hermione saw that the person Harry had spotted was, in fact, a priest. She also saw in Harry's eyes that this was exactly what he had hoped for when they had talked in the cab not forty minutes earlier.

Hearing their approaching footsteps on the hard, stone floor, the priest turned. He was an older man – maybe in his early to mid-60's, had a trimmed, gray-white beard, glasses, completely receded hair, and dark green-brown eyes. He also wore a black cassock and a plain, gold cross about his neck.

Seeing Harry's expression, the priest said, "May I help you, my son?"

Harry smiled, squeezed Hermione's hand gently, and then said, "We claim sanctuary from persecution, as is our right."

The smile that the priest had shown them stopped and became something altogether different. It wasn't anger or anything even close. It was more… curiosity and a need to know something. "Hmmm. Well …. That's very interesting. From what are you running, my son?"

Harry turned his eyes to Hermione and then said very quietly so that only she would hear: "Show him your wand". This caused her eyes to grow wide… but she trusted that he knew what he was doing, so she slipped her wand out of her sleeve and held it up, so that the man could see it.

It was to Harry's intense relief that the priest didn't flinch, smirk, or show any outward sign of immediate disbelief. After a moment's pause, the man said quietly, "I take it that that is not a toy?"

Hermione shook her head and then slipped it back up her sleeve. "Do your trick, Hermione" Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. Squeezing his hand so that he knew that she had heard him, Hermione brought her now free hand upwards a little bit, palm upwards. Into it sprang a glowing ball of soft, bluish Gubraithian fire. It was the single bit of wandless magic that she could do – but it put her light years ahead of any other girl that she knew. It was also completely untraceable, as far as magicals were concerned.

Extinguishing the fire with a flick of her will, Hermione smiled at the man and said softly, "No, the wand is real. I just don't always need it."

"I see. Are you both...?" He let the question trail off.

Harry met the man's gaze and nodded. "I didn't want to let go of her hand to show you, but the answer to your question is yes."

Having his answer, the man said with a soft smile, "Very well then. Follow me. The Archbishop will want to speak with you."

The priest led them down several passages and then up two sets of stairs before he stopped inside a quiet, understated office that was decorated, mostly, with photos of the same man who stood before them standing with various dignitaries from around the world. Hermione's eyes fell on one particular image of the current British PM. It was then that the pieces fell into place for her. From Harry's expression, she could tell that he had already deduced the man's identity. He _was_ the Archbishop of Canterbury.

"Now my children, what brings a young witch and wizard here at this time of night?"

A wave of tiredness passed through Harry and he asked, "May we sit? This could take a while."

The Archbishop nodded and motioned for them to sit. When they had done so, Hermione snuggled closer to Harry and interlaced her fingers with his. "What do I call you?

The man smiled. "Vicar would do. I'm not overly fond of pomp and circumstance and I dislike the many titles I've accumulated. That's why I take my turn being rector of the Cathedral, just as the others do. It makes me remember who and what I truly am."

Harry nodded and then let go of the breath he had been unconsciously holding. "Thank you. I need to know how much you know of our world before I can explain why we're here. It will make it easier."

"Not very much, really" the Archbishop began. "I know where your powers end – or at least I think I do – and where mine own begin. I know a little bit about the magical government here in England and about that big school of yours – Hogwarts, isn't it? – up in Scotland. Beyond that, it's pretty limited."

The Archbishop was, by necessity, circumspect about his own powers. It was the most forbidden subject of conversation with lay-people and he knew that even witches and wizards might be very disturbed to learn just how powerful a gift lay in the hands of the vicars of the Church. While he wasn't omnipotent on hallowed ground, there were very few things that his God put beyond his powers. He couldn't raise the dead, for example… but he could call God's judgment upon the living. If someone was found wanting…. well, he or she didn't have a prayer. Literally. Additionally, while in his presence and under his protection, no soul could be taken or slain, if it wasn't that person's appointed time.

He could also banish foul creatures from other realms back to those realms and could deal with the evils that inhabited this world. That meant that Dementors, Lethifolds, and their ilk could not violate any hallowed space where he or another Vicar was present.

Sitting back some, Harry thought for a moment about the high points – the things that the Archbishop would absolutely need to know – and the things that he did not. He wondered as well about how far he could go in talking about Tom Riddle and the unspeakable things that he had done in trying to return to power.

Finally he said, "There's a war on in the magical world and Hermione and I are at the center of it." It was the truth, more or less, and it got the man's attention, just as Harry had intended.

"A war you say. I had wondered about some things recently and that might explain it. Please…go on. I think I need to hear all of this."

And so Harry, and occasionally Hermione, talked. For more than two hours they told the Archbishop everything that they had seen, done, or knew about through others. At the end, the Archbishop looked considerably more concerned than he had when they had begun speaking.

"So you are telling me that this Tom Riddle has found a way to cheat death and in so doing, killed others… and as if that wasn't bad enough, has created a group of followers just like the Nazis, who believe in 'blood purity'?"

"Essentially that's it, Vicar" Harry said; not expecting to have to say more.

"And he's planning on trying to take over all England?" Hermione nodded.

Hermione noticed that the man was clutching the cross that hung around his neck; as if it was somehow reassuring to him. It was a habit that she had seen in others and it moved her in a strange way. She wondered if she had any nervous habits that others had seen in her. She made a mental note to ask Harry about it later.

"How long will you two need sanctuary?" the Archbishop asked softly.

Hermione thought about this and then leaned to Harry so that she could whisper in his ear. After a moment, Harry nodded and then said, "Probably three, maybe four days at most. We need to have our trail grow cold enough that those who are looking for us start looking elsewhere. Once they do, we can move. All that we need to buy we can get in town. Once we're fully supplied, we can get away."

"Where will you go?" the Archbishop asked.

"East" Harry replied. He had several destinations in mind, but didn't want to give up too much.

"If you need contacts, ask me. I know many people and most all of them would help without inquiring as to the whys and wherefores."

"Thank you, Vicar. That is a kindness and we are grateful. This war is not going to end easily or quickly and we need time to prepare."

The Archbishop nodded; his brow furrowed with evident worry. "Aye, son. That seems true enough. I will do what I can to help as well."

Hermione yawned. "Oh my. I didn't realize the time. Good heavens. I should let you two get some sleep."

Harry's weariness had caught up with him as well. "Thank you. We can sleep on a couch or whatever. We're not fussed."

"Are you two…. Together?" The Archbishop asked as politely as he could.

Harry looked at Hermione for a moment and saw the blush in her cheeks as she silently nodded to him – answering the question that was written in his expression. "Yes, sir. We are. We've exchanged magical vows already."

"How old are you, son?"

"I'll be sixteen in a few days, sir"

"And you, young Miss?"

"I'll be seventeen on the 19th of September, but I'm almost 18 biologically, because of some time magic that I used a few years ago."

Their answers gave the old priest pause. When he spoke again, he looked thoughtful but not unhappy. "Then it is no shame and no sin to offer you room together. I have the sense that you are fully committed to each other and that's all Jesus could ask of anyone."

Hermione felt Harry's hand squeeze hers comfortingly. They had not spoken about what they would do each night, but it seemed right to both of them that they would sleep together. "Thank you, vicar. It's more than we would have asked of you."

"You didn't ask, young man. I offered, you two accepted, and it's settled." He stopped for a moment and then spoke again. "I don't suppose I've asked your names."

"Hermione Granger, vicar." She offered him her free hand, which he took in his.

"Harry Potter, vicar." The name caught the Archbishop up short. He stroked his beard and then said, "Are you really?" Harry nodded; wondering why his identity hadn't come up in conversation previously.

"Now that's a name I have heard before. The PM spoke to me about you actually not that long ago, I seem to recall." That earned an eye-roll and a small 'hmmpf' from both teens. "Too much printed about you with too little truth?"

Harry nodded. "I've been famous since I was 15 months old for something I didn't do. My parents sacrificed themselves to protect me. I owe them and the people I love the willingness to do the same." His tone wasn't bitter or sad and in it the Archbishop heard something quite miraculous: Acceptance of a terrible duty for reasons too profound to put into words.

Hermione heard the same thing and her heart melted. If loving her was his reason for fighting against Riddle, Harry was more extraordinary and more wonderful than she could describe. It transformed the promises that she had made to Harry while they were together in the vault at Gringotts into her sole focus and her love for him into something more profound than she could have ever imagined.

"Come with me. I will show you your room. It's not fancy, but I don't suspect that either of you have pretentions that way." He rose and the two teenagers followed him out of the office where they had been sitting and towards the safest place in the entire cathedral: the Archbishop's _sanctum sanctorum_.

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**Early evening, July 29, 1996 – No. 12, Grimmauld Place – North London, UK**

** Four** days had passed since Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had fled No. 12 Grimmauld Place and the Order of the Phoenix was in a complete uproar.

The continual din of loud, bitterly angry voices and occasional exchanges of spell-fire was proof of it. Not only had members of the Order turned on each other, they had provoked the children of the Order – namely the Weasley clan and those closest to them - into open revolt. Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George had barricaded themselves inside one of the 3rd-floor rooms, behind strong blood wards of Fred and George's devising, after both Ginny and Ron had leveled borderline curses at their mother. Molly had attempted to curse them with severe pain-inflicting 'punishment' curses ('a parent's prerogative', she called it dismissively) for their supposed insolence and disobedience. Not even Albus Dumbledore, whom Molly had called in a fit of irrational rage and panic, had been able to penetrate it – even after repeated attempts to do so. The adults, Arthur, Molly, Albus, Severus, and Tonks had no idea that the four children had co-mingled their blood to build it, so as to reinforce the ward to the point of almost total invulnerability.

Worse, from the perspective of the Order, was the newly arrived news that: (1) Harry and Hermione had completely dropped off the map of England and could not be found, by means either magical or mundane, and (2) that Sirius Black, without Dumbledore's knowledge or consent, had turned his back on the Order and managed, with the help and collusion of Gringotts, to give his _entire_ estate to his Godson and adopted heir, Harry Potter. It was a thumb-in-the-eye to Albus Dumbledore and to his notions of a 'greater good' and a colossal problem for the Order's continued existence. It also had the beneficial effect of precluding Draco Malfoy from _ever_ getting his hands on the Black family's gold – which was something that Sirius suspected Dumbledore might have used as a means of controlling Draco and keeping him beholden to the Headmaster.

Of course, the news that Harry had been given all of the vast Black Family fortune, including No. 12 Grimmauld Place, was cause for cheering as far as the Weasley children were concerned. No one they knew was more generous with whatever resources he had or more protective of his friends. The uproar itself was also cause for celebration, as the Weasley children all deeply resented being kept from full Order membership and they _all_ hated Severus Snape. Beyond that, each had a reason to be angry at the adults in the group for the way that Harry had been treated. They knew, because they had seen it for themselves, that Harry had been terribly abused by his relatives – and that the Order's members had completely ignored it.

Only one person was smiling and calm amidst the sea of frothing anger at No. 12 Grimmauld Place: Sirius Orion Black. His would be the _coup de_ grâce to the neck of the Order and for that reason he was almost giddy with self-satisfaction. Among the causes for celebration, as far as Sirius was concerned, was that Dumbledore could no longer steal from the Black Family's fortune in order to support the Order. The loss meant that Alastor Moody's 'retirement' (read 'drinking and whoring') fund was gone, Molly Weasley's hoped-for home remodeling 'wind-fall' was reduced to a fast-fading day-dream and best of all, Albus Dumbledore's flexible slush-fund was suddenly quite inflexible. The 'old guard' was, of course, furious – which made Sirius even happier. "HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?" Molly had raged at him – until he had grown sick of her ranting and stunned her hard into a wall. Mundungus Fletcher – thief and drunkard – was dead after being caught red-handed trying to steal the Black Family's ornate, extensive, and incredibly rare silver-service. Not that anyone in the Order would catch on to his disappearance though. Sirius had used an old, rarely used and little-known curse to (magically) desiccate Dung's body; leaving a small pile of calcium (from the bones) carbon (from the blood and soft tissue) and organic silicates (teeth, hair, & nails). The dried remains Sirius transfigured into a small, irregularly-shaped stone, which he then casually tossed down into the deep, dark basement of the house. The nice thing was that Dung's disappearance would eventually be chalked up as another unmourned death to be laid at the feet of the Death Eaters – before being forgotten about entirely.

Even Remus - the only other living Marauder – had been frustrated with him for a short time… at least until Sirius had reassured him that Remus would never, ever do without and that the friendship between the last of the Marauders meant that he would never suffer a month without wolfsbane and he would never, ever be homeless _or_ friendless. After that, Remus had begged Sirius' forgiveness and had withdrawn from the chaos and turmoil of the Order; choosing rather to retreat back into the house's extensive library, thus removing himself from the anger being expressed by the rest of the Order.

Tonks, for her part, had tried to curse her cousin from ambush and learned the hard way that a Hit-wizard like Sirius never loses the bit of self that originally made them hit-wizards. As a result, it would be a cold day in hell before she tried it again and a very long time until she could sit down comfortably. Hestia Jones – the Order's only other young adult woman and a beautiful, fairly powerful black-haired, blue-eyed witch – learned that the Black Family library could be full of unwanted surprises. Hers came in the form of a curse that caused debilitatingly delicious, powerful orgasms at the most unpredictable and inopportune moments – rendering her useless in a fight against Death Eaters or anyone else. Sirius planned to make her suffer until she renounced her membership in the Order and instead, irrevocably pledged her loyalty to his Godson, Harry Potter.

The only people who hadn't tried anything were Minerva McGonagall, because it had always been her habit to keep her own council and not go off half-cocked at anyone; Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Severus Snape. Sirius thought that Kingsley either respected him too much as a former hit-wizard to try anything or that he just didn't have a dog in the fight and therefore couldn't be bothered. Snape, on the other hand, was a mystery. Yes, the man was the quintessential Slytherin, but that didn't explain to Sirius' satisfaction, the man's almost obvious _approval_ of what he had done. It was just very odd.

What no one knew was that a very peculiar…well, really singularly odd… house-elf named Dobby had made surreptitious contact with Sirius during the intervening days since Harry and Hermione's escape. Sirius, of course, immediately put him into league with the Weasley children, and the Goblins of Gringotts – and through them, with Harry.

Immediately (as it was a pressing need) Dobby became the food-connection for the Weasley children and the most reliable taxi-service in and out of the house… right under Albus' overly-large, intrusive nose. His movements couldn't be tracked and he could keep secrets like nobody's business.

So good was he, that in the few short days it was immediately obvious that he would become the strong glue binding an entirely new group together; a group destined to be far larger and more effective than the fabled Order of the Phoenix. It would be headed, as if it could ever be aught anyone else, by Harry and Hermione Potter.

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**271 miles Northwest of London, England – at the Longbottom Estate – Falstone, England – later the same evening**

"BONG!"

The sound of the estate's large, brass cymbal rang through all of the lower floors of the main house, announcing the wish of a visitor to appear at the home's designated apparition point.

As tradition dictated, Neville and not the Matriarch of the house (his grandmother, Augusta) moved to the home's foyer with his wand in his hand, and sent the magical signal outwards that indicated that they were ready to receive the unnamed visitor.

A moment later a small house-elf appeared. Neville noticed immediately that the elf didn't stand as most house-elves did, which was to say slightly stooped over and giving all of the outward signs of complete subservience. No, this elf stood straight and tall, with pride in his appearance. He, Neville, was disconcerted by the fact that the elf was wearing a full, clean, handsome uniform. One that bore the crest of House Potter.

"Are you Master Longbottom?" the elf asked, unhesitatingly

It took Neville a moment to shake off his surprise. When he did, he looked at the elf – really looked at him – and said, "Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"Dobby, Master Longbottom. I am Dobby the house-elf and protector and helper of the great Harry Potter. He is in need of you."

The elf's words shook Neville. Maybe not so much as they might have once done, but they shook him nonetheless. Even after all they had gone through against Delores Umbridge – "Umbitch" as most still called her – and against the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, Neville still wasn't used to being needed or wanted. "M…me? Harry Potter wants me?"

Dobby was strong in his insistence. "Yes, Master Longbottom. The great Harry Potter is needing you. He asked me to bring you to him."

"Tell me how you came to serve Harry first"

"Harry freed Dobby from bad, bad old Master with one of his own socks. Bad Old Master served he-who-must-not-be-named. Master Longbottom fought bad Old Master at the Department of Mysteries."

Neville smiled. It was exactly the story that Harry had told him about Dobby, and only a very few people knew the story. He felt safe that the elf was exactly who he said he was and that it was alright to go with him. "That's what I needed to hear, Dobby. Let me send a message to my grandmother, telling her that I'm going with you."

Dobby nodded. Master Longbottom was a careful wizard, just as Harry had told him. When Neville finished sending his Patronus-message to his grandmother (just as Harry had taught him to do), Dobby took his hand and the two disappeared.

Moments later, Neville Longbottom found himself on the grounds of a massive cathedral – which one, he didn't know. "Neville!" a voice called out. "Over here!"

Spinning in place, Neville saw his friend and supporter, Harry Potter, standing just inside the front door of the Cathedral. Next to him, her fingers clearly interlaced with his, was the girl so many thought would be Head Girl some day, and maybe even Minister of Magic eventually: Hermione Granger. How long her last name _remained_ Granger was a matter of dispute. The current Hogwarts (student) betting pool had it lasting no longer than July 31, 1997 – the day Harry turned 17. The Professors' betting pool put the date earlier than that, but no one knew why.

The distance between where Dobby had left him and the front door was no more than 60 feet and he crossed the distance quickly. The moment he was close to them, they grabbed him and pulled him inside. "Where are we? And what's with the secrecy and all?" Neville asked.

"All in good time, Neville. What spell did Hermione use on you the year that we stopped Quirrell from getting the stone?"

"Petrificus Totalus" Neville answered. Harry nodded. Neville was slowly catching on that something was more than just a little amiss. Harry had never, ever asked him a personal security question before.

"What's going on, Harry, Hermione?"

"We're being hunted by the Order, Neville. Harry's had a major falling out with Dumbledore and the Order has turned on him. We caught Nymphadora Tonks intercepting my letters to Harry – well, rather, Harry did, but that's beside the point. Anyway, Harry's been made Sirius' sole heir. Plus, Harry inherited a bunch of stuff that we need to tell you about at some point. However, now's not the time. We have to flee here and get somewhere safe. Harry remembered you saying something about one of your uncles who's a squib, living in New Zealand or somewhere like that. We need to get out of the country and disappear for a while."

It was a lot to process, but Neville was no dummy. Not the best in Potions or History of Magic perhaps, but far from stupid. "I've got two uncles, actually. Both squibs. One's in Singapore and the other's in New Zealand. That's the place to go, I think. Once you're there, you've got options and can really disappear."

"Would you be willing to let us charm this conversation away, so that you can never talk about it, except to us?" Hermione asked.

"You mean… like a Fidelius or something?"

"Not that complicated. It's called the _Obscurare_ charm. It hides the information from you with a password that only we know, so that only we can cause you to remember it. It's quick, painless, and takes a great deal less energy than the _Fidelius_ charm."

If Neville hadn't been impressed with Hermione's breadth of knowledge before, he was now. He wondered just how many students, or adults for that matter, knew of the charm she had just described. Damn few was his bet.

"Yeah. Let me give you the name and the contact information and then you can do your bit, Hermione. I'm not sure I want to remember this anyway. Not that I'm happy about it, of course, but if Dumbledore is after the two of you, I'm not one to get in his way."

Harry nodded. Even though the Headmaster was the current target of Harry's anger, that didn't mean that Harry didn't recognize and respect the Headmaster's vast and rarely matched magical powers. With Fawkes by his side, there were damn few places on Earth that the Headmaster couldn't get to instantly. There was also nowhere that could be blocked from entrance by a phoenix - which was one reason that Dumbledore was so feared.

"Let's do it then. The sooner Hermione and I are out of here, the better. Nowhere in England is safe, if Dumbledore gets wind of our presence, and we don't want to overstay our welcome here."

Producing a pen and a small notebook, Hermione copied down the information that Neville dictated. Once it was done, Hermione and then Harry hugged him fiercely. When Harry and Neville broke their hug, Harry said, "We'll miss you, Neville. You're one of our best mates. Please protect Ginny and the rest. Tell Ron and the twins that we'll be in touch when we can, and that we love them all, okay?"

Neville nodded. "Alright, Hermione. Do it. I don't want to remember what I've told you."

Hermione lifted both hands, her wand in her right, and muttered a long incantation. When it was done, Neville's head glowed a soft white for a moment and then the light faded.

"Dobby!" Harry called into the air.

_!Pop!_

"Yes, master Harry, sir?"

"Please take Neville from this place back to where you found him, okay? And then come back here. We need to strategize." Harry was confident that Neville would not remember anything that could be used to trace their location – and gave silent thanks once again for Hermione's brilliance and love of learning.

The irrepressible house-elf nodded, laid one hand on the taller boy's hand, and then disappeared with him.

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione sat in the small room that had been provided for them, eating the food that Dobby had brought to them from the local market. Both were a bit on edge, as anyone would be before a big trip. Between bites of French bread, pâté, _Fromage de Affinois_, and slices of ripe pear, which they washed down with a bright, crisply cold "Riesling Spätlese fruchtig" (fruity Riesling wine) the two teens tried to figure out how to tell the other about his/her thoughts and fears – and not just those about the trip they were about to take together. Finally Harry gave in to his internal dialogue. "Hermione? Love? You sure you want to come with me. I mean… it's not like I've not been alone before. This will take you away from Hogwarts – maybe forever – and away from your friends."

"Friends?" Hermione snorted, more to herself than to him. "Harry, it's a little late to be bringing that up. Besides, other than the girls whom I…." Hermione didn't finish the thought, but Harry guessed to what she was referring. She, like many other women at Hogwarts, had a number of close female lovers. Hermione's were (as far as anyone knew) the Patil twins (deliciousness twice over), Angelina Johnson (who, apparently, went both ways, as Harry's multiple experiences with her in the Quidditch showers proved), Susan Bones (a far sexier redhead than Ginny ever could be), and Pansy Parkinson (a stunningly beautiful, poised, graceful brunette – but one lacking Hermione's brains and magical powers). Leaving them – especially the Patil twins and Angelina - would be hard for her. If the rumours that he had heard unintentionally were true, Hermione was an active, attentive, enthusiastic, and creative lover.

Like all other boys Harry – at least until he turned 16 – was forbidden from taking a lover. More specifically, boys were barred from sexual intercourse or "any acts which could result in pregnancy". In many cases family lineages as well as family magics had to be considered and protected so fathering a child out of wedlock was _extremely_ problematic – hence the prohibition. Worse was being male and gay – like Malfoy was rumored to be. If it was discovered by an adult (parent, teacher, employer) – especially _en flagrante delecto_ – it was a one-way ticket to banishment from the magical world. Of course, that wasn't to say that Harry was even close to pure, sexually speaking… he wasn't. He had had some very, _very_ interesting experiences in the girl's showers after Quidditch practice about which only he and the girls involved (he hoped) were aware – but he had never crossed the line into actual intercourse.

Along that same line, he and Hermione had yet to consummate their relationship, but he knew that they would eventually. He loved her and knew that she loved him and it was obvious that they both wanted it very much, if what they had done together so far was any indication.

"It's not forever, Hermione… and we could always take some of them with us, if they wanted to go... but I've got to come back to England eventually and put an end to Riddle once and for all."

"Oh Harry…." He could see what he thought were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and wasn't sure why. Was she happy to have him offer it? Surprised? More importantly, did she expect him to share her if some of her lovers did come along when they fled the country? What if they wanted to share _him_ with _her?_ If they did, what would that mean for their relationship? It made Harry very confused. One part of him… his bits… liked the idea very much. His heart, on the other hand, was confused by it. It was hard enough to know how to show Hermione how much he loved her. How could he be asked to love more than one girl? Was her happiness at the thought of bringing her girlfriends a sign that she didn't love him like he loved her?

After an uncomfortable minute passed, Harry leaned forward and said tremulously, "Is that a yes?"

She nodded, almost reluctantly. "Is this going to be a problem between us? I mean…. I can't compete against them. You and they have a history together…." He let the thought trail off, unsure of what more to say. Hermione could see the sadness and fear in his eyes and could hear it in his voice.

Not really thinking about her actions, Hermione grabbed him by the hands and pulled him to his feet. She wasn't any better at expressing her feelings than Harry was, but she knew that the thought of _not_ being with Harry forever scared the life out of her. The only problem was that she also had very deep and strong feelings for the girls with whom she had shared both her bed and her private life over the last five years. Harry could see the tears streaming down her cheeks and wondered what was so hard to say or feel that she could look so broken. "Harry…. you need to know something about me."

That was the kind of phrase that _no_ man ever wanted to hear. It ranked right up there with "Does this dress make me look fat?", "Tell me what you're feeling", **"****Do you ever think about your ex-girlfriend?**" and the great relationship-killer… "Do we _have_ to watch Football/soccer/etc.?" Nevertheless, Harry pulled her close and did the best he could to physically reassure her that whatever it was, it was alright, even before saying so. "Whatever it is, Hermione, I love you. That's what matters to me."

She smiled through her tears. Harry really was the sweetest boy she had ever met and it amazed her that he most often found just the perfectly right thing to say to her when she was feeling sad/frustrated/scared/lonely or 'E – all of the above'. This time though, she was certain, that he _wouldn't_ have the right response – because there wasn't one for what she had to say. Not looking up at him, Hermione said timidly, "Harry…. I'm a slut."

For a moment, Harry didn't know what to say. He was sure that he had heard Hermione correctly… but it was just such an _un-Hermione_ thing to say that he didn't know how to react. Finally what came out was "_Huh?_"

"I'm a slut, Harry! I like girls…a lot… and you – and I…." she trailed off, unsure of what else to say. She was sure that Harry was going to be horrified that she identified herself that way, but it was the way that she internally described her almost perpetual state of lust for the girls around her and for Harry. Always and forever, for Harry.

Overcome by the weirdness of the moment, Harry burst out laughing. "Hermione – if that's the worst thing you can tell me, then we have NO problems. You'll discover that I'm every bit the…" he hesitated with the word "Slut – boy-slut? As well. I mean…. do you know, for instance, where your pink silk knickers disappeared to last night?"

Harry's response caught her off-guard. "Yes…. I mean… no, but… eh? What in Merlin's name has that got to do with what I said?" she stammered.

He grinned. "Hermione, what do _you_ know about _my_ sex-life?"

Hermione blushed hard all the way down to her pebble-hard nipples. "Not much. I mean I know what _we've_ done – _bloody brilliant so far_" she said with a squeak, before recovering herself "and I know what's been rumored about you and the Quidditch girls, but beyond that? Nothing, really."

Harry's entire countenance relaxed and he smiled a happy, horny, playful smile. Pulling her even closer, so that their lips were brushing up against the other's as they spoke he said, "Oooohhhh. You should know, miss sexy-girl, that y_our_ silk knickers are currently wrapped around my cock and I can feel them stroking me with every step." He emphasized the word _your_ so that she would clearly understand that Harry was turned on by her.

It was out of character for Harry to be so incredibly forward with her… but his words thrilled her immensely. The thought of _her_ knickers pleasuring Harry so intimately send a bolt of desire racing through Hermione and sparks of excitement up and down her spine. It also made her press her cloth-covered sex against his.

"_You_ are a naughty boy then, Mr. Potter" she moaned at him, before capturing his mouth with hers; forgetting, for the moment, about anything else – including the fact that that there was still a lot that was unsaid between them.

When they broke apart so that they could breathe, Harry's hands slithered down from her hips, to clutch her arse and pull her in even closer. "_And you, the-future-Mrs.-Potter,_ have no idea what you do to me." Hermione, despite her fears and self-doubts, giggled happily, even though there were tears running down her face. "Sounds like you like the fact that you wind me up" he said, in a gentle but pleased voice.

She smiled at him. "I love you so much, Harry."

With their faces not even two inches apart, he didn't have to speak at anything above a whisper. "As I love you, Hermione. I love everything about you – including your lusty nature. The person you are doesn't frighten me."

Hermione wiggled in Harry's hands, loving the fact that his strong fingers were clutching and caressing her arse. It felt wonderful to be so possessed by him – to be so thoroughly _his._ "I'm yours forever, Harry. I promise you that. Even if I love girls, I'm still yours – now and forever."

He nodded. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he said softly but seriously, "Good. Just so you know, I will kill any other boy who touches you."

His words changed Hermione's countenance immediately – shifting it from playful and loving to more somber. "I know, Harry. I promise that you will be the only boy in my life, _ever._ I so swear on my magic and on my life."

The rush of wind and light that surrounded Hermione momentarily told Harry that Hermione's oath was truly given and that she had taken it to heart in such a way as to assure him that she _would_ always be good to her word. "You didn't need to do that, Hermione, in order for me to believe you. I love you and I have always trusted you. You've never lied to me."

Leaning into him, Hermione wiggled her hips lewdly. "I know, Harry. The thought of losing you terrifies me and I wanted to make sure that I was clear about my commitment to you."

"We settled then?" he asked. She nodded. "Good. Now, let's get back to the important stuff."

"And what would that be?" she asked coyly as he ground himself against her.

"Doing what we should have done when we realized what we meant to each other"

Overwhelmed by the sudden wave of desire she felt – desire that Harry was doing his very best to stoke within her – Hermione's mouth fell slack and she moaned. The sound of it made Harry's heart sing. "Bed?" he asked. Her answer was guttural: gasps of pleasure created by the sweet, sweet pleasure of his hard cock thrusting against her and his hands cupping her ass so possessively.

"_Oh God,_ Harry…."

Wild magic lit up the room as the two teens began to lose the battle for control over their magical powers – the desperately tight grip that young witches and wizards were taught to exert at all times over their magical cores, lest their emotions cause great and terrible damage to those around them.

Over, back, and around their hands went – touching and caressing as they went while one by one, layers of clothing disappeared, until the two teens stood in each other's arms, naked. She was lost in a fog of pleasure and desire, but some part of Hermione's mind realized that she need to think about the date. What day was it?

Her hands came up to push him away, even before her mind had fully processed what some part of her already knew. er

"Stop!"

The word lanced through Harry and made him drop his hands away from her body and a stricken look to appear on his face.

"I want to! Please… we can't! Not until your birthday!" she said, in a panicked voice.

Harry sprang back from her as if touched by a spark. "Oh God, Hermione! I'm sorry! I'd never have started things if I had remembered…."

She slumped back against the bed that was in the small room; feeling one of its short corner-posts press cold against the small of her bare back. Her whole system was hotwired and throbbing with desire and she knew that if Harry continued to touch her, there was no way she'd be able to resist and they would make love until they were sated and passed out…. _but… _looking down, she saw his flagging erection and realized that it wasn't right to leave him like that, either. While 'blue-balls' was a myth, there wasn't a doubt that neither of them would get anything productive done in the hours to come without sexual release. An idea sprang to her mind. "Harry, where are those silk knickers?"

Frustrated by the turn of events, and the very real need to avoid intercourse until he was actually 16, Harry pointed to the corner of the room, where their clothes had magical stacked themselves in two neat piles; his and hers. A barely noticeable twitch of his finger and the sexy, silky knickers flew across the room by themselves. Hermione gasped as she realized that he had summoned them silently and wandlessly. However impressive her little trick with Gubraithian fire was, silent summoning was even more impressive, as it took a great deal more control and power to accomplish.

The moment Harry caught the aforementioned knickers, he handed them to Hermione, with a blush in his cheeks. With an impish smile, Hermione said "Naughty, Harry" before she fell to her knees.

"What are you doing?" Harry managed to croak out.

"This" she said, and she wrapped the knickers around his huge cock and began to stroke him. Her petite hands and the silkiness of the knickers combined to create sensations that were indescribably amazing for him. Hermione giggled as his erection went from 'flagging' to 'full-mast' in almost the blink of an eye.

The look in his eyes when hers met his was one of incredible desire, as well as unmet need. She knew the feeling well. Once she figured out how best to please him – because really, this was the first time doing anything remotely like this, she snaked one hand down to her pussy. Her clit was practically on fire, so strong was her own need. The moment she touched it, she gasped; causing her to momentarily lose focus and stop stroking Harry's cock. That, in turn, caused Harry to beg, "_Please…. oh God. Please… don't… stop!"_

"I have no intention of stopping" she said with a purr, as she resumed her efforts on his behalf. It wasn't going to take long, she was sure… but as her mother had said when she was a primary-school girl – anything worth doing was worth doing well.

Soon he was gasping; his hips thrusting at her repeatedly as he reacted to her incredible touch. "Yes! Please, please make me cum! Yes! Oh Yes God! Yes! That's it! I'm cumming!" And he did. Right into her open, waiting mouth.

Eyes blazing, Hermione looked up at him. He watched her as she swallowed his seed and then sensuously licked her lips, before standing up. His cock was still in her hand and almost immediately it sprang back to life; causing her to giggle. "You're such a lad."

"It's all you, 'Mione" he said, with quiet mirth and intense love in his voice.

To hear him say so made her heart soar. She had never had a great deal of confidence in her looks, even if her girlfriends loved her with abandon, and it really did lift her up to know that her looks made him react so strongly and so _obviously_.

His hands fell to her waist and he turned her so that she was forced to let go of his cock. Finding herself standing in front of him, so that his manhood was ensconced between the cheeks of her arse, throbbing and slick with renewed need and desire, Hermione's world became very small: all that mattered was the intense desire she was feeling and the boy who loved her.

His breath was hot on her neck and his words spilled into her ear, so sibilant and carnal that she could practically feel the wet desire in them. "Can you feel my hard cock against your arse Hermione? Do you know how much I want to push it deep into you? Do you know how much I want to hear you scream out my name when you cum? Do you know how much I want to claim you as mine forever?"

She writhed in his touch; feeling his fingers push all the way into her wet, needy pussy. She let her fantasies run wild and imagined his cock pushing deep into her arse while Padma, Parvati, and Angelina took turns kneeling between her legs and licking her pussy. It was quite enough to push her over the edge and into orgasmic oblivion. "_Harryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"_

Minutes, though it felt like hours later, Hermione sagged in Harry's strong arms; the trembling from her colossal orgasm finally subsiding. He was still holding her from behind and he was still very, very excited, as the steely erection pressing against her proved, but he wasn't doing anything active to try to deal with his 'issue'. A part of her was disappointed. She knew, after almost two years of experimenting with her girlfriends, how good having her pussy (and her arse!) filled could feel and she was more than certain that Harry's cock was going to feel better inside her than any toy she and her girls had ever created. Another part, however, was astonished that he _hadn't_ taken advantage of her temporary incapacitation. It wasn't like she would have stopped him!

"Harry?" she asked softly, breaking his gentle hold on her and turning in his arms so that she could face him. "Do each other?"

Good boy that he was, Harry hesitated. He knew *exactly* what he wanted and knew that being in bed with her, naked, was a recipe for trouble. Hermione, on the other hand, had spent many a happy hour between the legs of her girlfriends – and just like in Arithmancy, '69' was her favorite number. It took a moment for Harry to catch on to what she was wanting, but he did and grinning, let himself be guided by her. She pushed him back, so that his head ended up more or less on the stack of pillows. Crawling on top of him, Hermione edged backwards, so that her sex was positioned above his mouth perfectly. It wasn't long until they were both lost in a fog of "virtue-saving" pleasure.

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**Early morning, July 30, 1996 – Malfoy Estate - Kielder Island on Kielder lake, west of Falstone, UK**

One good thing about having an entire island to one's self was that there were no restrictions on flying. Since the entire island was warded to hell and back – which meant, for all intents and purposes, that no one could see it, map it, remember it, or find it if they didn't already know about it – Draco Malfoy was free to do what he wanted at any time, day or night. Today he was flying. It was warm out, even in the early morning's light, and it felt very, _very_ good indeed to be out of the house and away from the troubles that had come visiting.

Draco had a problem – or really, his parents had a problem (beyond the fact that his father was now somebody's bitch at that fabulous, north-sea resort, _Chez Azkaban_). The Dark Lord had taken up residence at their home (since it was the most securely warded property of any of those owned by Death Eaters). Draco hated the Dark Lord; most especially since he knew the truth about him, and hated the fact that his own father had allowed himself to be branded like a common farm animal. Malfoys, he had always been told, bowed to no one… and yet his father had spent the previous six months doing just that: bowing and scraping and praying that he didn't get _crucio'd_. _"He who must not be named" my ass, _Draco thought sourly_._ Tom _fucking_ Marvolo Riddle. _Half-blood._ Son of a horribly inbred, vile, loathsome, disgusting pig-faced woman and a _Muggle._ _Bleh!_ He knew that the only thing that could be worse was if his father's master had been Muggle-born. Then something pulled Draco up short. It was something he should have recognized and maybe something his father had missed entirely: The three best (and most powerful) students at Hogwarts _were_ Muggle-born: Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbot (technically a half-blood, but raised in an all-Muggle household), and Harry Potter (though, technically, Harry was a half-blood, but he too had been raised by Muggles).

Out of the top ten students, only one 'pure-blood' was in the top five. Worse still, at least from a certain perspective, was that two of the so-called 'pure-bloods' were foreign-born (the Patil Sisters) and they were from a mixed Muggle/magical home.

Landing, Draco quickly conjured a quill, some ink, and a piece of parchment, before sitting down to write furiously. It was the one and only time that he thanked his father's insistence that he always remember the names and graduation years of those at Hogwarts. The more he wrote, the angrier and more afraid he became. Everything he remembered about class-standings, for his year and for those ahead and behind, he recorded. He didn't like what he was finding. The top of the three years…._Muggle-borns or half-bloods._ The best students from each year going back to 1970? The same. Lily Potter? Muggle-Born. Remus Lupin? Half-blood. Nymphadora Tonks? Half-blood. Ellie Darcey-Alden? (Class of 1999) Muggle-born. Geraldine Somerville? (Class of 1982) Muggle-born.

By the time Draco stopped, more than an hour had passed. He looked at the results and a burning anger started in him afresh. Not an anger at Dumbledore, nor even at his supposed nemesis, Harry Potter, but at his parents – his father in particular – and at the Dark Lord. Everything he had been taught about the 'superiority' of Pure-bloods was a lie – at least according to the standings at Hogwarts. He wondered if Dumbledore knew what he knew. Then he stopped and laughed a short, bitter laugh. Of course the old man knew. He had to. The man collected, hoarded, and even lusted after information. More, Draco was willing to bet a considerable sum of galleons on the fact that Dumbledore not only _knew_, but was doing everything he could to make it possible – despite the considerable resistance of Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters, marked and unmarked. He wondered what that said about the old man and if the speculation about the Headmaster's penchant for plans-within-plans was true. His godfather, Severus Snape, had once warned him (quite strongly) about never underestimating the Headmaster and that he was an extremely dangerous and cunning wizard.

Like the Headmaster (he supposed) Draco had kept his mouth shut and had never told his father just how much more he believed Hermione Granger knew about magic than all of the students around her. There were rumours – ones he had no problem believing – that Hermione had successfully created Polyjuice Potion _in her second year_… and that she knew more curses, hexes, jinxes, and charms than all of the rest of them put together. There were also rumours that Harry Potter was a very, very close second and that he had outshone her in DADA by a full THIRTY-FIVE points on their OWL's (meaning that he had earned a raw score of _at least_ 130 out of 100 - an O++ or Outstanding with Highest Honors). Draco had barely scraped a 90 on that exam! Harry had thereby earned the distinction of being the ONLY student to ever out-do Albus Dumbledore on an exam score in the modern era.

Draco Malfoy knew something that he was certain no one else did (excepting again the Headmaster), including his father and the Dark Lord: Harry Potter was far and away more powerful than anyone else in the school except, _maybe_, for the Headmaster. After those two, it was Hermione Granger, then Minerva McGonagall (a Transfiguration Mistress and no slouch to be sure, but not anywhere near Hermione's level), then Filius Flitwick, Severus Snape, and Hannah Abbot. All half-bloods or Muggle-borns. It made him wonder just what the Dark Lord's supporters were thinking when they even _considered_ moving against Potter and Granger. Draco had lost to Harry time and again and those were moments when Potter _wasn't even trying_. He shuddered to think about what a really hacked-off Potter could do.

Draco's _real_ problem, however, wasn't Potter, nor was it his standing at school. It was much worse in some ways. He was homosexual, just as many had suspected since he had arrived at Hogwarts. It meant that he was most assuredly not 'gay' in the old sense of the word. It was hard to be 'happy and gay' when, for a pure-blood, it was a death-sentence to be found out. He knew that he'd be made an example of by the Dark Lord should his secret come to light. He would be tortured, slowly, and then killed. If he was really unlucky, his mother would be made to watch as it happened.

It was therefore incredibly odd to him that he had a great deal more to fear from his father's "associates" than he ever did from his 'enemies'. It was almost paradoxical that Harry knew he was gay and yet had sworn a magically binding oath to him that he would never, ever say anything to anyone or make any attempt to use Draco's orientation against him. How can you have an arch-nemesis when said person is willing to swear a magical oath to protect your most frightening secret? It made him wonder if anyone, save for Hermione Granger, understood Harry Potter at all.

Fortunately, the port-key that hung from a small silver chain about his neck was his ticket to freedom. All he had to do was find the right moment to trigger it and he was gone. Of course, getting it had meant renouncing the Malfoy name, but that was of little consequence. His mother was born Narcissa Cecilia Black; the eldest of the three daughters of Cygnus and Druella Black and cousin of Sirius Black. That relationship, happily, was his ticket to freedom and a life safely away from Dark Lords and magical civil wars.

The post-owl that had woken him before dawn had borne a letter and the port-key that promised him freedom, as well as 200,000 Galleons of his own, in exchange for a (fairly) loosely worded loyalty oath to the Black Family and his renouncing his father and the Malfoy line. Unwilling to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Draco had made the oath that was outlined in the letter and then had sealed it with a drop of blood. That had caused the letter to glow a bright gold, before it shredded itself in a shower of gold and silver sparks. Left behind was a small gold coin – about the size of an English (Muggle) ten pence coin. The coin was the port-key; cleverly inscribed with the activation phrase "Draconum semper succedere".

After casting a permanency charm on the parchment that he had conjured, Draco folded it up small and hid it inside his robes. He let the quill and ink dissolve back into magic before mounting his broom. It would not do to have it discovered that he had been doing his own research or writing. Independent thought was discouraged by the Dark Lord.

Lifting into the late-morning sky once more, Draco surveyed the perimeter of the island and tried to figure out the best way to make his exit. If he waited too long, he could end up being called before the Dark Lord and he knew instinctively that would not end well for him. No, he had to get out. Letting the breezes guide him, Draco flew about, looking and thinking.

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**Hours later – Gringotts in London**

Thump! "Ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Mother!" A little girl screamed as the boy with almost white-blond hair and a racing-broom clutched between his legs suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the lobby of Gringotts-London. He was deep blue with cold and his body was shaking uncontrollably. No one moved for a moment; wondering just what was going on. The next moment, two burly guards gathered up the young man and hustled him down a side aisle and through a door, before anyone could do anything to prevent it.

Nymphadora Tonks, who just happened to be in the bank at the time, failed to get a good look at the boy, and was therefore unable to discern whether or not he was a 'person of interest' to the Order of the Phoenix. Had Albus Dumbledore been there, he most certainly would have tried to interfere and prevent the Goblins from absconding with the boy. It was Albus' most fervent desire to use Draco to try to wrestle back control of the Black Family fortune or at least gain access to and control over a portion of the family's enormous wealth in order to influence Draco's feelings and thoughts. There was, of course, no way that the aged wizard could have known that Sirius Black, just prior to his surreptitious passing of the leadership of the family to Harry, had already gone a long way down that road, by dissolving Narcissa Black's marriage to Lucius and calling back the dowry that had been given over to him when the two had wed in late 1979. Also missing from Albus' wealth of information was the important fact that Sirius had done the same thing to Bellatrix Black's marriage to Rudolph Lestrange – which gave him the right to claw back an additional 200,000 Galleons of dowry money out of the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. The two acts had netted the Black Family vaults 450,000 Galleons – two hundred of which he had then bequeathed to Draco, on the condition that he abjure further relations with the Malfoy line and subsequently swear fealty to the Black Family and to its renewed motto: _"__Semper__cordis puri" – Always Pure of Heart._ It was something that Sirius had known Harry would accept and support, and that would drive Albus "For the Greater Good" Dumbldore around the twist.

It didn't take long for Draco Malfoy to come to, or to realize where he was. All that really mattered was that he was safe – or at least _safer_ than he had been when he had figured out where the weak point was in the Island's wards. He wondered to himself as he lay back on the not terribly comfortable bench which damn fool had decided that the Island's wards needed to extend all the way up to ten thousand feet. He had genuinely never, ever been colder than the final moments before he broke through the top of the wards and triggered the port-key. His lungs had felt like they were going to freeze solid and it had hurt so much to breathe that he thought he was going to die in the attempt.

It was a miracle, really that he had been able to get to the top of the wards at all, given how furious the winds had been at that elevation. He thanked God, Merlin, and anyone else that would listen for the moment of inspiration that made him cast a sticking charm to his clothing and the broom and the warming charm that he was certain had kept him alive during the last few minutes of his flight to freedom. One thing he knew was that it was going to be a very long while before anyone was going to be able to convince him to fly again!

Closing his eyes, Draco laid back and let the warm, moist air ease his hurting lungs. It felt damn good to be away and on his own path for the first time in his life.

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**Malfoy Estate - Kielder Island on Kielder lake, west of Falstone, UK – just after sunset**

"Bring the boy to me, Narcissa. It is time that Draco learned his place and what it means to be one of us."

Narcissa quaked at the thought. Draco was gay – she was sure of it – and appearing before the Dark Lord was the worst possible thing that could happen to him. The punishments that were inflicted upon those who were thought to be disloyal were bad enough…. but what she had seen done to those who were considered impure… were horrible. No. She'd not do it. She'd help him get away…. somehow.

"Yes, my lord. Right away." She kept her voice soft and accepting and didn't make eye contact with the Dark Lord. It was too dangerous. Instead, she looked down, as if she felt unworthy even to be in his presence.

"Very good, Narcissa. You have learned your place. I am pleased. Perhaps there will be a reward for you once your son has taken my mark. Go. Fetch him here and we shall see if your young dragon is ready for the next step."

"Thank you, my lord. If I may?" She knelt before him, as she had seen others do.

"Go. Do not tarry."

"Yes, my lord" She rose and backed up slowly, never letting her eyes meet his. Once she was free of the room, she dashed down several long hallways and out into the grand courtyard that was enclosed on all four sides, in the manner of a traditional Roman house. When she didn't see her son about, she took a broom and flew up and out, towards the beach that she knew he favored.

After seven passes up and down the beach, she was about to give up hope of finding him, when a metallic glint near the shoreline caught her eye. She landed and quickly found the source. It was Draco's Prefect badge. The one he had just received. Underneath it was a carefully folded piece of parchment. She unfolded it and found a hastily written note, done in what appeared to be charcoal:

**My dearest Mother:**

**If you are reading this, it means that you've been sent to find me. We both know how that would end for me. The Dark Lord doesn't favor 'my kind' and I don't want you to have to watch what he would do to me. I am free now – your cousin Sirius sent me a port-key. I don't know where it will take me, but I know I will be safe. I am sorry that I had to leave you like this. I didn't want to, but I had to get away. I love you very, very much. You have always been good to me and I hope I was a good son to you.**

**I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. **

The letter was signed and there were places where the note was stained with what Narcissa was sure were tears. She felt her own tears hot on her cheeks. There was no way for her to say goodbye to him. She had never been able to cast the Patronus Charm. She looked about. There had to be a way!

The Sun was gone – fully set below the western horizon – by the time that Narcissa finished casting the last bit of magic. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Holding the pigeon in her hand, she made sure that her own note was tied securely to its leg and that it was weatherproof and tamper-proof. If it got to Draco, he would know how to retrieve the note safely. She checked the bird over once more and was confident that the _Imperius_ charm would hold for its entire flight to London.

Sweeping tears away from her face, she tossed the pigeon up into the air and watched it fly off, south by southeast; towards London.

There was only one thing left to do. She had to make sure that the Dark Lord could not raise up her body as an Inferi – which meant she had to cast several desiccation charms – time delayed, of course – before she could take the final step. When she was satisfied that she was ready, she looked towards the southeast. "I love you, Draco. Avada Kedavra!"

No one was present to see the awful green light that leapt from the tip of her wand and swept away her soul. Soon, the desiccation charms kicked in and turned her body to fine ash, ready for the night winds to blow hither and yon.

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_**OKAY – so I wrote this second chapter in about twenty days. Yes, I know I'm slow, but I hope that the final product is worth the time and effort. It's been hard at times to know where to go with certain details, but this story is very different from the others that I have going and I'm trying to be both original and creative.**_

_**YOUR REACTIONS TO THIS STORY WILL DETERMINE (IN LARGE MEASURE) whether or not it gets continued. SO….. As usual, I would ask you to please leave a review. Reader-reviews are the life-blood of this kind of writing and I need/want them no less than the next person. Plus, it gives me a sense of what's working and what isn't. **_

_Regards,_

the_scribbler


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